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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26801791">Unstitch that Shed-off Soul</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PirateQueenCatherine/pseuds/PirateQueenCatherine'>PirateQueenCatherine</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Biting, Blood, Blood Kink, Demon Sex, Demons, F/M, Illusions, Penis In Vagina Sex, Post-Time Skip, Self Confidence Issues, Sex Magic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:48:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,272</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26801791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PirateQueenCatherine/pseuds/PirateQueenCatherine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Bernadetta has developed an interest in blood. One day, she returned from an attack bloodied, muddied, and a mess. But on seeing herself in the mirror, there was no disgust, there was an admiration for the taboo.</p>
<p>But when this results in her writing a short erotic story and finding it has gone missing in Garreg Mach, who could have found it?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bernadetta von Varley/Hubert von Vestra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Unstitch that Shed-off Soul</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Self-indulgence is good. Self-indulgence in Bernadetta (post-ts) having a blood kink is even better.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bernadetta wasn’t quite sure the first time it lit a fire in her. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it certainly did, she thought as she washed her hands, wiping away muck, dirt, and dried blood. She could not be certain whose it was. Her arm had been grazed and her horse had bucked after being scared by some flames in battle, giving her enough of a fall that she spat it onto the floor. Probably just from biting her cheek on the way down, but enough that it warranted looking at from medics.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perhaps it was from an arrow she pulled from a body that morning. That was the one thing she didn’t like, watching the skin bulge and go taut as the wide head was caught in the flesh before bursting out. The blood was beautiful, the flesh was not, in a strange way. She wanted to see blood smeared across skin, not oozing from wounds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernadetta looked up into the mirror and at her face, returning to the present. Much like her hands, it was a mess. There was a graze along her right cheek, her hair had clumped together, while down her chin and across her jaw was a dark red smear of the blood she had coughed up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was nothing ‘pretty’ or representative of ‘noble beauty’ about it. It was messy. It was dirty. It made her legs go weak. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was in the first bathroom in days. It was late in the evening at Garreg Mach, the war was ongoing, but the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force had washed, ate, and been to bed. Their last mission had taken a day and a half to get to, and another day and a half to get back. They were exhausted. Their food had been measly, and most of them... well, there are few places to shower out in central Fódlan. Petra was a mess, Hubert and Dorothea looked like they were covered in a soot-like powder from their magics, and Caspar revelled in it. “Good for the skin, right?” He’d say. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernadetta had let everyone else clean up first because she knew she’d feel this way. She’d see herself, her dirtied clothes and bloodied face, and get riled up. Her muscles would twitch of their own accord, she’d feel tight and restricted wearing something, and her thoughts would wander away from her in favour of increasingly depraved fantasies. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was right. That was exactly what happened. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That mirror reflecting her image was what she’d masturbate to. Taking a stool that was kept in the bathroom, she positioned it in front of the mirror. With very little grace, Bernadetta stripped herself just enough: first taking her boots off, followed by unclasping her shawl, and finally raising her dress to pull her shorts away. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another day, Bernadetta would strip it all away, but for today, that was enough. Underneath the dress, she was exposed enough that she could reach down and feel herself. The stains across her uniform added to the feeling, anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She sat back on the stool, leaning backwards and lifting her feet. Propping one up on the stool itself and the other on the sink, leaning back with her left hand holding a railing to keep herself steady, Bernadetta looked into the mirror. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perhaps there was a perceived narcissism in masturbating to yourself, but it was as if her face and physical body went out of focus. Bernadetta instead looked at the marks, fixating on them, vision narrowing on the smears of blood. There was a part of her that wished she was able to admire her hands, dark red and brown marks along her knuckles and a long splatter along her left arm, but she had cleaned up a little too much for that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instead, as she began to tease herself just with her fingertips, she imagined other ways the splash across her face could have happened. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It could be simple, a freak nosebleed that happened purely randomly, the kind you can never explain. But her mind didn’t linger on that for long. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her thoughts moved on, to the thought of a bloodied hand on her face. To the thought of having sex with a nameless, faceless shape that looked closer to a demon than a person, with a bloodied torso and limbs, that would reach forward as it fucked her. Groping her tits, gripping her shoulder, eventually reaching her face where it would leave a streak across her while its fingers searched for her mouth, two of them pushing past her lips for her to suck on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She closed her eyes to focus on it. Her jaw went limp, tongue lolling forward a little as if to invite something. Between her legs, she pushed one finger inside herself. In truth, she had little control over herself in these moments, acting on impulse and instinct as fantasies carried her through it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That fantasy in her mind continued. On her back, legs wrapped around the formless being’s torso while it thrusted away. It would even bleed onto her, hot droplets hitting her chest, smeared around when it groped at her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Back in the real world, she grit her teeth, not wanting to be terribly loud despite her desire to moan. She grit her teeth and opened her eyes to look into the mirror once again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her skin had grown flushed, red cheeks making the dirt and flecks of blood that hadn’t been wiped away all the more obvious. It embarrassed her to look down, at the bent knuckle, and see how she spread herself. But then, she closed her eyes, and imagined it was the demon again. Entering her, finally combining the physical feeling with the fantasy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When she was on her own, it did not take long to bring herself to orgasm. With the finger inside twitching against the walls and her palm pressing gently down for some added pressure, she could easily coax the orgasm out of her body. It was only easier with a fantasy like this, one she fully enveloped herself in, tongue reaching out now as if to catch this crimson fantasy on the tip.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a balled fist and curled toes, she orgasmed. The fantasy faded away, eventually releasing the tension in her jaw and shoulders while she wiped her fingers and calmed down. Bernadetta sat upright and looked at herself in the mirror. Now not only was she dirtied and bloodied, but she was sweaty and worn out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After a moment of respite, Bernadetta got up, put the stool back where it was before, and got herself ready to shower. She stripped naked, folded her clothes, and hid herself under a stream of hot water. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernadetta just stood there for a moment, taking this as an opportunity to fully regain some strength and composure. The warmth ran over her, soothing, not like the burning heat of blood that she had been imagining. Blood never really burned, but it always felt like it should. Like it should feel wrong, and bad, and not make her yearn for more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernadetta wiped her hands down her face, as if to scrub away the thoughts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The shower was definitely longer than it should have been, but she wanted to relax for a moment. Let her muscles loosen up, her shoulders drop after carrying equipment for days.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eventually she fully cleaned herself. Hair sopping wet, perfectly straight down her shoulders, and pale skin no longer covered in black specks of dirt. Probably smelled much nicer, although she wasn’t sure, the shower always smelled of soaps. It was why she liked to masturbate there: she’d never be covered in the smell of her sweat and whatever she’d leak onto her fingers if the soaps washed it away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Wiping herself dry, she got dressed, and returned to her room. The fantasy had not fully left her mind, it was still there. Sometimes she’d think about the feeling of blood dripping on her, sometimes the shape of the demon. Details, here and there. She wanted to write it out, but, goddess, she could not. What if someone saw? They’d know what she fantasised about. The ridicule, she couldn’t imagine it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But she could make sure nobody saw it. Hide it, she’d been pretty successful in that for some time. There was that time with Sylvain, and a few other close calls when she had written in the library and Linhardt had been in the mood to ask her all about her writing, thinking it was a scholarly endeavour, but otherwise nobody had ever read it. The way it should be.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was late, dark outside, but a lantern in her room kept it bright for now. She wasn’t tired, probably due to a nap she took while waiting for everyone else to shower. What if writing now was a good way to get these fantasies out of her head? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Taking a lantern to her desk, she sat down. Could she? Writing out something so explicit felt wrong, in some way. Like this embarrassing fantasy was made real if she wrote it down. They had to kill beasts, not fantasise a night of violent sex with them! </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But nobody would be awake. Nobody would see if she hid it. There was no dark contract that she could sign to create this reality. It was a personal secret. And a story she could write for herself! To come back to, whenever she was struck with the urge again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She took pen to paper and began to write. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was hard for Bernadetta to explain the appeal of blood. She certainly hadn’t ever attempted to explain it to another person, but even to herself it was a strange concept to actually untangle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There were enough bodies in her memories. Enough traumas involving it that, truly, it should remind her of mortality, of suffering that those in power had caused. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But when it didn’t, there was a feeling of something almost like rebellion. And for someone who was so afraid to go against the grain, this one area was an indulgence. In bloodplay - in kink - Bernadetta found a place to rebel that was, despite appearances, safe. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And so she wrote out a fantasy of a young woman forging a pact with a demon. It would be signed in blood, by which she meant a knife across her palm, a bloody handprint smeared across the page, which became a smear along its chest, which escalated until they were sticky with dried blood across skin and shade.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It certainly wasn’t Bernadetta’s most coherent work, and her handwriting certainly reflected that. Closer to a stream of consciousness, her cursive becoming sloppy and closer to a scribble. Between her legs, she felt herself get wet again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the midst of a scene where the demon was biting hard enough to pierce the woman’s skin, filling its mouth so it could drool a crimson saliva down her back, somebody knocked on Bernadetta’s door. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>A harsh rap on the wood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lady Bernadetta?” They asked. “Your light is still on, may I come in?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She recognised it as Hubert’s voice. Why was he awake? It was late at night, everyone was meant to be asleep. Perhaps he really was naturally nocturnal…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Was he a vampire?!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Obviously not. Vampires were not real. Instead, Hubert was up late after helping organise Emperor Edelgard’s supplies, ensuring everything had been accounted for. The man was nothing if not meticulous. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernadetta instead immediately thought of something absurd, that he was there to kill her, or make her a vampire too, or tell her she was a spy but that she didn’t know it. As she often worried. In reality, he was concerned; he had seen her nearly fall asleep on the way back to Garreg Mach, she should be resting and taking care of herself. There had been a few times in the past when he noticed her sleep schedule deteriorate, shifting further into the night and waking up later during the day. It was usually a sign of anxieties getting worse, and he wanted to help. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh, give me a moment,” she mumbled, quickly hiding papers underneath each other. Her desk looked a mess as a result, but that certainly wasn’t out of the ordinary, in fact it would make him even less likely to question it. Fixing her appearance in the mirror, at least her dress and some stray hairs, she made her way to the door and opened it for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You, uhm, really don’t have to look as intimidating when we’re here, Hubert, you know that right?” She teased gently as she looked him up and down. It was a not-so-subtle way to hide her anxieties about the paper hiding in plain sight. He was almost bell-shaped in his cloaked figure, a large jet black cloak with edges that were hard to pin down in the faint night which hid his body.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I find it comes naturally. May I?” He asked, extending a hand through the front of his cloak and gesturing into her room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She nodded, stepping to the side to invite him. In the back of her mind, she screamed not to, because he’d see her papers, or, perhaps even worse, he’d somehow notice the fact that she was making a mess between her legs. Please, no, she thought. But he walked in, as her body invited him to do.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Immediately, he walked towards her desk. Oh, goddess, he knows, she thought. Standing over it, he pulled out the chair, spun it around, and sat down, his back to the desk to face her. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Phew. He was just looking for a seat. Of course he was. Obviously. How would he ever have known? A stupid thing to think.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t want to seem like I’m scolding you, because I’m acutely aware I’m awake as well, but why are you still up? And dressed in your daily clothes, for that matter.” He shrugged off the cloak, letting it fall around the back of the chair.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I, uh, couldn’t sleep after my shower?” She replied, unconvincingly, as she took a seat on the side of her bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mmm.” Hubert did not believe her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was, honestly, concerned for her. There was no malice, nor desire to reprimand her for being awake at such an hour. Not because it would be hypocritical, but because it was the wrong way to go about such a thing, especially with Bernadetta, who did not respond well to punishment in that way. It was a genuine, honest concern. It just so happened that the genuine, honest concern came about because she had stayed up late with erotic fantasies. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There’s nothing wrong with a late night, and I’m certainly aware it’s been a stressful few days, Lady Bernadetta, but I did just want to make sure you weren’t-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was going to finish that sentence with something along the lines of “weren’t struggling to sleep because of anxieties that perhaps I, Emperor Edelgard, Miss Byleth, or others could help with.” Bernadetta interrupted it, though, with an outburst. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I just couldn’t sleep! I wanted to do something to take my mind off it, and, uh, I decided to write.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stupid, stupid Bernie, she thought. Why would she tell him that! Why did she find it so hard to lie to him? It would have just been a little white lie. Maybe she was organising her sock drawer! That would be believable, a normal activity for...what was likely 2 in the morning. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he clearly wanted to know more! He raised an eyebrow! He was going to ask, and he’d find out, and she’d be run out of Fódlan. Could she...perhaps...knock over the lantern, and set the room on fire, burning up the evidence? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course, Hubert felt differently. Writing at such a time was odd, and Bernadetta rarely admitted to writing at the best of times. He had certainly seen her writing before, and had silently watched sometimes, but he avoided reading the content itself. There were, admittedly, some lines of it he had read, but when he quickly realised it was harmless fiction, rather than a naive admission of the empire’s secrets, he turned away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But there was certainly curiosity. What did a woman like Bernadetta write, especially when nobody was looking?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you mind if I ask what you were writing?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In his mind, an innocent question. One that left open the door to responding with ‘no, it was private.’ But her eyes went wide, despite her mildly heavy eyelids. The last time he saw her look like that was the first time Jeritza rode alongside her. He couldn’t tell which of them looked closer to an aspect of death in that moment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>To her, it was terrifying. Calm down, Bernie bear, she thought. Just lie. Just tell a little white lie about how there was this story idea that just had to be written out right now, because otherwise it would be forgotten by the morning. A little white lie. She could do that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I, uh, heh, yeah,” she stuttered. Come on Bernie, you can do it, just lie, everyone does it! Just tell him that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was just writing a short story.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Good enough. Surely. The fact she barely left room between words and she pronounced each syllable like it rolled on from the last into one barely intelligible word certainly didn’t go unnoticed, but maybe he’d think it was the tiredness setting in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lady Bernadetta, there is not a single time you have admitted to writing fiction with enough confidence not to stutter. Is everything alright?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He continued to be innocently concerned. This only flustered Bernadetta more as her mind raced. Was he just...trying to bait her into admitting something he already knew? Did he just want her to embarrass herself with the admission?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instead, he was honestly concerned that she was lying to hide personal problems with her mental health. Before he could clarify that, she stamped her foot, shut her eyes tightly, and gave her best attempt at a whispered yell. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was writing a very personal story about my fantasies! Okay Hubert! Is that what you wanted me to say!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She dove backwards, onto her bed, taking the blanket and covering herself in it as if to hide from Hubert, as if having a blanket blocking her view of him would cause him to disappear. As if hiding in the dark, soft interior of a blanket protected her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In his chair, Hubert was stunned. He was certainly not the person people went to for emotional advice, and an outburst like that was certainly not one he was prepared for. There was nothing wrong with it, of course, he simply didn’t know how to reply.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So they sat there. Hubert watched the blanket sway from side to side, while Bernadetta thought about how to make it so that this had never happened. That was until she realised Hubert was sitting at her desk. Oh no, she thought, he’s probably reading it now! He can’t, if he reads it her life would be over!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wait!” She cried, as she threw off the blanket and leapt out of bed, with far too much energy for that time of night. Hubert was sitting in almost exactly the same position as before, as if he were petrified. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clambering over Hubert, she reached over his shoulder to snatch papers from her desk, which, in all her panic, resulted in them being dropped across the floor, floating away in all directions. She squealed, and fell to her knees trying to pick them up, anything that had scribbles on it had to be hidden from Hubert.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He did not help. Instead, he calmly reached down and patted her shoulder, making Bernadetta freeze up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You understand I do not care, right?” He told her, with a gentleness to his voice that rarely came out. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not in the cruel way. Lady Bernadetta, you are both a respected archer and a good friend to all here. What you do in your spare time is only the business of those you wish to share it with.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With papers held to her chest, she looked up at him, still eyes as wide as a doe’s. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If I’m being truthful, I am concerned for your health. I was concerned you weren’t sleeping, and wanted to check in, and see if I could help. I understand that my, ahem, appearance and demeanor don’t often put that concern across, but I see now you’re doing fine, and I apologise for perhaps interrupting your night. Have a nice night, Lady Bernadetta.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He stood up, and strode towards her door. Now that his back was to her, he could let some of a facade down: his cheeks were burning up, he had balled a hand into a fist as he did his best not to let his voice crack for those last few sentences. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a rare occasion for Bernadetta to allow someone into her room. He was not unaware of what he was asked for earlier, when he asked to enter. It was absolutely intentional, calculated to some extent. He did not expect her to agree, let alone for it to end up with, well, an admission of sexuality, to put it in words he felt comfortable with.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had grown fond of Bernadetta. It had certainly taken some time, but once she stopped running away, and once he had learned how to show his kindness in a way that didn’t scare her, they had found common ground. She was funny. The time she had spent reading and writing meant that she had a keen eye for details in the words people chose, a skill he admired. His concern for her was more than simply akin to that of a leader checking in on their responsibilities.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Much as Hubert struggled to admit it, he had feelings for Bernadetta. She was a pretty young woman, and had certainly grown in beauty over the last few years. And he was certainly guilty of mentally rushing past those feelings for lust.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Because when you struggle to create earnest conversation, actions can really speak much louder. When those actions are expressions of intimacy, when thoughts wander towards a woman who so rarely makes herself known being exposed, even more so.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That sight of her, vulnerable and wide-eyed, clutching her porn to her chest, was all he could think of when he stood at the door. Curiosity overwhelmed him. What was so embarrassing, humiliating, even? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was no way the man could ask. Of course not, that would be absurd, he had a role to fulfil here: spymaster, warlock, leader. Sylvain provided more of the entertainment in that regard, and he was certainly aware of how many others at Garreg Mach had been sleeping together of late.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So he approached the door: disappointed in the fact he must continue his role, glad that Bernadetta was safe and indulging herself, but wishing he was able to say more. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After opening it, she called from behind him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wait, uh, Hubert, you forgot.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His cloak. Of course.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One hand holding the papers to her chest, the other extended and holding out his cloak, she, finally, smiled up at him. No longer quite as afraid, her smile was warming. It always was. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you. Sleep well, I hope you get rest well tonight. I won’t condone you if you don’t, but do get some rest.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I will, goodnight Hubert.” Bernadetta replied, far more calmly than earlier.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She closed the door behind him as he carried his cloak out, and retreated to his own quarters. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That little speech had calmed her down somewhat. Hubert’s monologues often did, when he found a situation in need of his perspective. He didn’t care, and he wasn’t going to pretend that was the truth if it wasn’t. That reliable blunt honesty helped Bernadetta out a lot, as someone who always feared ulterior motives. It was strange: he often did have ulterior motives, but never with Black Eagles. Never with Bernadetta.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After watching him walk away through a crack in her door, she locked it tight. Nobody else would be coming in tonight, Bernadetta thought to herself. Overcome with an exhaustion, likely from the emotional outburst in that brief interaction, she turned back to her room. After placing papers back on her desk, making sure blank sheets were on top to avoid any mishaps, she turned back to bed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>This wouldn’t have happened if she just slept, she thought. Perhaps that was a sign to go to bed. </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>On the other side of Garreg Mach’s sleeping quarters, Hubert entered his own room. It was more organised than Bernadetta’s, partially because he certainly had more guests than her, but partially because he enjoyed being able to see everything. An open room, where there were no spots for things (probably socks) to hide. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was tired, it had been a long few days, and unfortunately it wouldn’t let up until tomorrow evening. There would be war room meetings, health checks on their forces, supply runs, and a lot of tedium. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a sigh, he threw his coat onto a chair, and turned to strip off for bed. But out of his cloak floated a piece of paper down to the floor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perhaps it was an accident mixup as Bernadetta grabbed both his cloak and her papers at once, perhaps it was intentional, or perhaps it was a curse, but somehow: she had wrapped up some paper in his cloak. Back in her room, she was blissfully unaware. In his own quarters, Hubert was given a difficult decision. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was clearly written on, or perhaps scribbled on might have been more accurate. Even from a distance, he could put the facts together and work out that it had been her erotic story. The one she desperately did not want him to read. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had a few options to consider. One would be to deny all knowledge, act like it wasn’t there, dispose of the paper and go about their time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was not an option. Bernadetta would certainly notice it was missing. If she thought he had taken it, but he wouldn’t admit it, her mind would only wander. She would become afraid, terrified that there was an open secret about her. He would have to be honest about its presence in his room.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He would do that tomorrow, Hubert thought. Pull her to one side, hand her the paper, tell her to be more careful with her things. Easy. Crisis averted. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Except then there was the matter of its content. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was there. In front of him. He could read it. There was nothing to stop him. But it became very difficult to convince himself this was anything other than personal interest, a curiosity in Bernadetta’s affairs, and, really, an invasion of privacy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It ate away at him. Tomorrow, he thought, he’d make a decision. He would, at the very least, return it to Bernadetta to close this problem for good, but in the morning, then he could decide whether to read it. Placing it carefully on his own desk, Hubert wiped his face and stripped off for bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Although as he fell asleep, he could feel the paper’s presence in his room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>No matter how late Hubert went to bed, he would always be woken up at the first crack of light entering his room. A blessing and a curse, certainly one that contributed to his somewhat sunken eyes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Normally he’d wake up, promptly get out of bed, and make his way to the showers before anyone else had an opportunity to corner him for a meeting. This morning, though, Hubert rolled over to look at his desk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was still there. From this distance, he could see the dark ink but couldn't make out any words from that distance. While he couldn’t remember them, he was certain that page made its way into his dreams, somehow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Groggily, he climbed out of bed, and stood there, looking at it from across the room. Without bothering to get dressed, he just stood there in his underwear as if he were waiting for the paper to make the first move. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It did not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hubert was not a morning person. He did not enjoy mornings, they did not enjoy him, and he certainly was not in the best state of mind after waking up. That may have been why he sat at his desk, picked up the paper, and began to read. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was seemingly not the first page, and while he definitely had to squint to read some lines, it was clear what he was reading. A demon had a woman bent over a bed, penis buried in her, it licked up her back with an elongated tongue, leaving a smear of blood-stained spit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was enough, really. Enough to sate his curiosity: it was a vague piece of fiction detailing an impossible fantasy that many people would likely wince at. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He throbbed a little at it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernadetta was a talented writer, and it apparently translated over into erotic topics. He understood how she felt writing this: like the demon was overwhelming, the combination of its strength and the taboo nature of a union dominating thoughts, the feeling of breaking norms with an embrace of sweat and blood. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Behind closed doors she had a sexuality like anyone else, despite her apparent fear of others, and a distrust in human connection. This was simply a reminder of that fact. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But now came the question of what to do. Hubert had told himself he’d return the paper. But would he tell her he’d read it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The shower would be the best place to think about it. Others would be waking up soon anyway, and he wanted some privacy, he should go now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a baggy white shirt on and plain black pants, a much more unkempt look than normal, he left for the baths, and locked himself inside. The story was still running through his head, in the few moments he was able to break free of it, he was thinking of how Bernadetta would have looked writing it, one hand between her own legs, rubbing knees together while squirming.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All of this meant that by the time he needed to strip off and get into the shower, he was fully erect, a strand of precome connected to his boxers. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>At least he was in the shower now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hidden behind a curtain, hot water dripping off, the privacy of showers at dawn meant he could take his time. He could take his time and masturbate, thinking about that story. It was exactly what he did.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unlike Bernadetta, though, he saw it and imagined himself in the role of the demon. The heat of the water and steam only made it stronger, he imagined himself a shade, the water as seeping blood and the steam as lingering shadows. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>With one hand he propped himself up against the wall, as if to imagine himself bending over her, and with the other he began to stroke himself. Masturbating, pulling his foreskin back as he thought about the fantasy of corrupting her like that, of watching her pale skin become stained red as shadows wrapped around her limbs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She would moan and cry out, cracks in her voice signalling the hesitation every time she recognised the taboos broken. He would grunt and scratch at her. She would bleed from the scratches, and he would smear the blood on his fingertips around her hips when he’d grab at her hips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then he would come.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was quick, and although he hadn’t mentally been keeping track of the real world outside of this fantasy, he knew it when his load was small, washed off his palm in a few seconds. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a part of him that felt guilty, masturbating not only to Bernadetta’s fantasy, but to the idea of inserting himself into it alongside her. Of being the demon she had been dreaming about.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Was it because of the fantasy itself, the shame of this being so far from ‘normal’ desires? Was it from thinking about Bernadetta, a woman he didn’t know how to profess feelings for? Was it the invasion of privacy? The likely answer was that it was all three.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But with that out of his system, Hubert stood up straight, looked forward, and resolved himself to get on with his day. There was work to do. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After cleaning up, and washing himself down, Hubert left the shower and began his day. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>First he’d have a meeting discussing the events of the last few days, listing casualties, successes, and the next steps for Emperor Edelgard. Then he’d see their armorers, check over supplies, and determine what needed to be done for their next attack. All painfully distant tasks from actually being on the front lines, he could see how nobles were able to spend generations sending young soldiers out to their death, never feeling remorse. Power corrupts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His first opportunity to see Bernadetta that day would be over lunch. If, of course, she turned up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She did not. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hubert sat at a table and watched the door to the dining hall, waiting for purple hair to bob its way in. He likely had ignored people vying for his attention in his focus on that doorway. Beneath the table, he had that paper in his bag, ready to give to Bernadetta. He would give it to her, this would all be over. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When it came time for him to leave, he would pick up his bag, and feel the weight of the story within it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Their second opportunity came later that day, and was fulfilled. A meeting of the leaders from their last mission was called, and was, unfortunately, the sort of thing Bernadetta could not miss. Although she did turn up slightly late, she turned up. Her hair was messy, she had bags under her eyes. It was like a return to her state years prior, of being a true recluse, like all her progress had dissipated. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She could not look him in the eye. When she sat at the table - her seat was, painfully, opposite his - she simply stared down at her feet.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>From the comfort of her bed and possibly one too many blankets, it was hard to tell what time she woke up that morning. Even harder still when she rolled over and kept her eyes shut. What an embarrassing night she had.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hubert coming into her room was bad enough! But the fact she admitted what was on those pages, she couldn’t handle it. Her dreams had even featured him, although it was closer to a combination of the real-world events and her fantasies. Much to her embarrassment, she had dreamed the same situation, but he was closer to that demon: slit pupils, a flicking tongue, his cloak was a flowing shadow. By the time she woke up, her cheeks were already burning with embarrassment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>When there was commotion outside, though, she finally rose out of bed. Dazed from a restless night, she got herself dressed to find out it was the early afternoon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lunch had finished, the dining hall had been closed off as everyone went about their afternoons. Bernadetta’s stomach rumbled, her mouth was dry. If she got dressed now, she could probably steal some bread rolls from the kitchen before they were thrown to livestock. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh, no, she thought, she had a meeting, too! After checking a watch in her room, she realised it was meant to start in about ten minutes. Something about discussing the attack? There was probably a file to read but there was no time for that. Bernadetta got dressed as fast as she could, and organised her room a little. Dirty clothes away, muddied boots in a corner to be washed...eventually, papers organised. She should hide the story, though, just in case. Picking up her papers, she flicked through them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Were there not three pages of it before? </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She checked the sentences. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They did not fit together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A page was missing. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She panicked. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Had he stolen it?! Did he take it when she was hiding under the blanket?! What about during the night, had he picked her lock, snuck in, stolen it and watched her sleep from the shadows?!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was bad. Terrible. Awful. The worst thing that could ever possibly happen. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And she’d have to go to a meeting with him! The meeting was now! Oh, goddess, was he going to take it out and read it aloud for everyone to point and laugh. They’d laugh at her then put her in solitary confinement!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Perhaps she could run. No, there were guards out the front. And she wouldn’t be able to defend herself! Rumours would start, and she’d become that legend about a perverted girl who ran away to sleep with demons and beasts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No. She would have to go to that meeting, and she would defend herself if it came up. If Hubert dared to embarrass her, she would fight back! Not literally, of course, he’d throw her through a window with the snap of his fingers, or throw shadow orbs at her, or give her some other terrible fate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hiding the papers underneath her mattress, she made her way out and to the war room for her meeting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course Hubert was there, of course she felt his gaze pierce her. It’s not like she expected anything else, of course he’d be there, of course he’d know. He was too smart! Too smart for his own good, too smart for Bernadetta.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nothing was said at first. He didn’t even give her a coy smile, a knowing grin, to torment her. That was even worse, she thought, this was clearly some psychology trick to try and taunt her even more than he already was! This being on her mind meant she didn’t even notice when Edelgard called on Bernadetta to give an account for the Black Eagle Strike Force’s archers, which she was, for some reason, responsible for.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thankfully they had an easy time, focusing on repelling flanking attackers that rarely showed up. She got to sit back down and hide from the rest of the meeting. A rare lucky break for Bernadetta.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was when everyone walked out and Hubert called for her that that lucky break ended. He stood near the exit and waited for her, holding his bag. This would be their confrontation, this would be where he’d kill her!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Reluctantly, Bernadetta walked close, staring at her own feet to avoid eye contact.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lady Bernadetta, I’m not sure how it ended up like this, but a slip of paper ended up in my cloak last night.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What did he just say? It got...tangled in there? It was an accident? Of course, she held both the papers and the cloak at once, it must have fallen into folds when it was picked up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I wanted to return it to you, rather than pretend it never happened. I think it’s safe to assume you were preoccupied with its disappearance given your... appearance and general absence today. I apologise for not getting it to you sooner, Lady Bernadetta.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With that, he opened up his bag, and pulled it out. There it was, a slip of paper with scribbles of her fantasies. Edges a little crumpled, but there. She snatched it out of Hubert’s hand, as if to ensure he had no further chances to read it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A-and did you read it?” She muttered, stuffing the paper into a pocket, not caring to keep it pristine and flat. That wasn’t the point, and after this escapade, she had no interest in revisiting the story she wrote.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He paused. He paused for far, far too long. His facial expressions gave nothing away but the pause was far too considered. Hubert was clearly wondering how to reply, and she knew what that meant. He had read it, and even if it lacked the other two pages, it made her fantasy abundantly clear. Mentally she started to panic, in case she had been reported to some authorities, or if he had-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Could we talk about that tonight?” He replied.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was not what she expected. It flustered her to not have a straight answer. Shuffling in place, she opened her mouth to respond, but didn’t know what to say.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Apologies, I should clarify. Yes, Lady Bernadetta. I did.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She wanted to run at that moment. Perhaps she could leap on a horse and hold on for long enough that it would take her to the beaches where you could see Brigid on a clear day, she could swim away…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I have no intention of telling anyone else the contents, and I apologise if that was considered an invasion of your privacy. I have a meeting soon, and I…” He paused for a little too long once again. “I would like to discuss it. If you would like me to do my best to forget everything, I can try to.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why would he want to discuss it? What was there to talk about? He had read it, there were no questions! This wasn’t a literary piece to deconstruct! She had just been horny! That was it. Nothing special.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That ran through her head on loop. Physically, she didn’t respond. She stood there, jaw hanging open slightly. He wondered if she was still conscious. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Forgive me for rushing you. I’ll come by your room later this evening, if that’s alright? I’ve got a meeting now, though, so I have to go. Take care, Lady Bernadetta.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He walked out. There was no fanfare, no shouting, no insults. It was almost disappointingly uneventful. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But that was good, right? He wasn’t going to tell anyone. He’d forget it if she asked. That would be the end of this, if she wanted it to be.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That question of why he wanted to talk lingered on her mind, though. It would be hypocritical for Hubert of all people to condemn a fascination with dark magicks. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>For the first time that day, Bernadetta had stopped panicking. She had no explanation, not even an anxiety-fuelled fear based in nothing but her own self doubts. There were no statements that added up. The only option was to wait. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And so she did. Her day was empty: she took the time to visit the greenhouse, speak to the flowers for a bit as she watered and fed them, got herself some food the second the halls opened up after her stomach had growled for long enough, and quickly returned to her room before she’d have to make eye contact with him in public once more.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The sun was setting by the time he knocked on her door. It had been a long day for him, but each meeting at least felt like a step closer to addressing Bernadetta. For the first time in a while, he was walking into a discussion where he hadn’t mentally written out lines for each possible situation. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He didn’t know what he should say, what he wanted to say, or how Bernadetta would react. But he knew he should say something. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I apologise for intruding two times in as many days, and I realise you rarely allow this, but may I come in, Lady Bernadetta?” He asked through a crack in the door. It opened for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come in,” she mumbled, standing to the side. Her hair was still a mess, as it was in the early afternoon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This time, he had chosen not to bring his cloak at least.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her room was a little more clean than last night. She had removed the papers strewn across her desk and wiped down those muddied boots, even if they hadn’t been put away. Bernadetta was messy but clean.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She stood there awkwardly as she watched him look around, as if to assess her room. Why couldn’t he just say it immediately? Why was there always unnecessary pomp and circumstance before he could just say things? It resulted in <em>seconds</em> more anxiety that could have been avoided!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eventually he turned to Bernadetta and sat in that same chair he did the night before. Hubert opened his mouth to speak, but Bernadetta interrupted his first syllable.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do you need to talk about?! Are you here to embarrass me?!” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hubert took a deep breath, pursing his lips somewhat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I am not here to embarrass you, Lady Bernadetta, I-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She cut him off once more. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Then you could just have given me the paper and forgotten it! I know what I wrote was strange and unusual but it’s my own personal writing! Not anyone else’s!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He nodded. Again, he opened his mouth to speak but Bernadetta spoke in his place once more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And I know it’s maybe wrong to think about that stuff but it’s all just in my head, nobody gets hurt, I’m not writing out Black Eagle secrets! So please don’t tell me off for it, Hubert!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Finally, she took a breath, letting him respond.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Telling you off is far, far from my intention, Lady Bernadetta. In fact I would go so far as to encourage writing like that. Personal indulgence in the form of creative writing is one thing I would certainly encourage for anyone living here at Garreg Mach.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once more, he took a deep breath, chest rising out as if to make his physical form stronger, tougher, while he prepared to lay emotions bare.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I wanted to come here and talk not because I wished to encourage that, though. I wanted to come and talk because I am, Lady Bernadetta, in a similar position.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She looked as confused as ever.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I started reading your story because I was curious. I continued reading because I found myself wanting more.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His words became slower than usual, each one specifically chosen. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ll hesitate on explicit descriptions, but I think you can read between the lines. My mind has been returning to your story all day. Lady Bernadetta, do you write this often?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She had no idea how to respond. Not just was he not insulting her, he was encouraging her. No, he wasn’t just encouraging her, he was asking for more!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernadetta shook her head. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It was a spur of the moment thing, one I wrote based on when I was...uh…” She stopped mid-sentence. The true end to that was ‘ covered in blood and dirt, masturbating in the baths’ but there was no chance she could say that. The sentence was never followed up with anything. It trailed off, until she pushed the conversation in a different direction.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Were you not disgusted?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hubert shook his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The mirroring made each one realise they were talking from completely different angles. Each one had entered this conversation expecting something very different. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernadetta had expected to be berated by Hubert about the perverse descriptions of sex. Hubert had expected Bernadetta to be an avid erotic writer, rather than the implication that she instead relied upon, perhaps, her hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They stared at each other. Bernadetta stared at his legs, struggling to look up, while Hubert looked down on her. Both spoke up at once.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you enjoyed it does that mean you jerked off to it?”</p>
<p>“Do you just masturbate without fulfilling any of it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Both awkwardly nodded. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He masturbated while thinking of her story?! That in itself was embarrassing enough. Does that mean he imagined her in the story too, she thought to herself. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was an open secret that the others in the Black Eagle Strike Force were intimate, to say the least. Did Bernadetta not participate, he thought to himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He did think of her. Not inadvertently, fully intentionally. Hubert had thought of her as his new demonic thrall. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She did not participate. Bernadetta was pent-up, masturbating in her room, unaware the rest of Garreg Mach happily made love and did far, far more explicit things than writing smutty stories. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Each of them was far, far more interested in making the story a reality than the other thought. Just one of them was too anxious to ever even consider it, the other was too divorced from the emotional partnerships of Garreg Mach to initiate it. It took an accident like this for them to both notice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernadetta sat forward. Her mind raced at the thought of Hubert masturbating to her story. Hubert did the same, the gap between them quickly closing. Eventually, he gained the courage to speak. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Demons are not real, Bernadetta, but illusions can certainly feel it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She blinked, confused.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you busy tonight?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>More blinking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bernadetta,” he exhaled, dropping the pretense of her title for once, “I’m asking if you’d like to make that story a little more real. With me. Tonight. Now, even.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blinking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Are you alright…?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was nothing about her that was wrong. Her state was simply shock. Almost absentmindedly, she nodded, acting on instinct rather than thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’d appreciate a little more enthusiasm, just so I can be sure you’re not fainting upright again.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, uhm, yes? Are you asking if I’d like to, uh, have sex? Like in...like in the story? Yes? Uh, yes, Hubert. Yes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a degree of flustering he had never seen her like before. She was wide-eyed and a jittery, on the edge of her seat both literally and figuratively.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He grinned and stood up. After making sure her door was locked, Hubert approached her. Sat on the edge of the bed, she finally looked up, into his eyes. With a gloved hand, Hubert caressed her cheek, running it up, along her skin and into her hair, letting it flow between his fingers. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was not the only one pent up. Despite that morning, he was worked up too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And so Hubert pushed her down onto the bed. Only gently, but she would have fallen over at the lightest tap. With a flick of his wrist, a shadow engulfed his right hand, which he held over her, almost as a threat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can create that scenario from your story, would you be okay with that?” He asked, wanting one final confirmation. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She nodded, gulped, and mouthed a ‘please.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With that right hand, Hubert gripped Bernadetta’s wrist. The shadow travelled from him, up her arm, like cold, heavy air against her, especially noticeable when it reached her neck. A muscle there twinged, enough that he could see it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The shadow travelled down her, as more grew around her neck, enveloping her head for some seconds. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not letting go of her wrist, Hubert leaned down, kissing her on the cheek. The smoke obscured her vision, she went tense at the feeling of his kiss, unable to anticipate his movements. It even made it hard for her to hear, everything sounding like a vague rustle. She could only work out that Hubert had begun to strip when his bare chest was pressed against her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With him pushing her up the bed, finally reaching a point where her legs no longer dangled off the edge of the bed. Instead she lay flat, shrouded in shadows that continued to flow from Hubert while he crawled around on top of her. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The shadows began to fade, the ceiling of her room becoming visible. With eyes wide, expecting to see Hubert, he dove towards her neck. And he bit down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Teeth sinking into her skin, lips pressing down to give him a seal with which to suck, making sure to leave a mark. Enough to make sure that the skin would be raised for some minutes after, red, perhaps even purple, and feeling like it should be bleeding. She tried to yell - not to protest, but simply because of the surprise, but a tendril of darkness wrapped itself around Bernadetta’s mouth and jaw, muffling it into near-silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gripping at the bedsheets, she closed her eyes and winced until he relaxed, finally letting go of her neck. When she stopped needing to dig her nails into something, and after the tendril let go, she looked down at him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was no way to tell if it was a physical transformation or an illusion, but he looked like a demon. Much like the one she imagined.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was shirtless, although her field of view conveniently hid whether he’d taken his trousers off. The demon’s - Hubert’s - skin was dark grey, whites of his eyes gone black, chest covered in cuts and scars. His smile was too wide to be human, uncannily off. But she struggled to focus on that: instead she saw dark red blood dripping from it. His white teeth dipped in blood, he leaned down once again, kissing her cheek and smearing blood along it and up her cheekbone. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Where had that blood come from? Was a chunk taken from her neck? It didn’t hurt, and she wasn’t bleeding out onto the bed. Perhaps it was part of the illusion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>More shadows fell from the demon’s back. It hit the floor and scattered like dry ice, pooling when it hit the walls and slowly climbing up it like unearthly vines. There was no way to tell what was an illusion and what was real now. Eventually, Bernadetta stopped trying to find the seams of an illusion, and leaned into it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Which meant that she finally reciprocated his actions. She reached up and stroked his chest, across muscles and pale scars. From there, her hand snaked up, over his collarbones and neck, so that she could run a thumb across his lips, feeling the hot blood across the fingertip.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His tongue - which looked too long, but she didn’t question it, not any more - wrapped around her thumb, pulling it into his mouth so he could suck the blood off it. And around her waist, he lifted her dress to the hips so he could get to her underwear. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>With the snap of elastic breaking, Bernadetta felt them fall away. Claws? Scissors? A knife? There was no way to tell how he had cut it, but it fell away, and she was suddenly exposed. Her inner thighs were slick from the fantasy already, both of them could smell it without looking. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernadetta still hadn’t gotten a look at his body beneath his waist, but when he stepped closer, she felt his member rub against her thigh. Sticky precome smearing along her, the slight friction pulling back the foreskin for him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That thumb still between his lips, he bit down on it. The bite alone held her arm up, trapped between sharpened teeth. Slowly adjusting his hip, Hubert backed up a little, then pushed his hips forward: just so his cock rested at her entrance. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was held there. Teasingly, while he took hold of Bernadetta’s wrist. And then he bit down harder, so a fang would pierce the skin of her thumb. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was no pain associated with it, although she didn’t question that either. She just watched as it seeped more blood into his mouth, which he drooled out, dripping into her lower stomach. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernadetta wanted to cry out again, this time with desperation. When the hot blood hit her stomach, it was as if the heat travelled down through her skin and muscle, into her sex. It made her twitch, in need of something inside her. But the tendril wrapped around her jaw once more, making her just a little claustrophobic. Even more so when she watched Hubert do to her palm what he had previously done to her finger.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jaw wider this time, so she could see how the inside of his mouth was not red like a human’s but black. Was his blood black too, now? Red and black blood, mixing as they pressed themselves together, the thought only made her desperation worse.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He bit down, blood squirting out. Thanks to the awkward position of trying to get incisors against a palm, it gave a long splatter across his cheek.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then he held her wrist to his mouth. There was still no pain, and in reality, this was a fantasy, but one that felt real. Like when a dream is realistic enough that you never question it, you never notice until you return to reality. So she didn’t question it when he bit down on her wrist. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It didn’t give quite as fast as her hand. He could feel a vein pulse with her heartbeat against his lip. Instead, she got to watch as a tooth slowly sunk in, blood seeping down it and over his gums, before it flowed down her arm. The pressure on her wrist continued increasing until it was as if he tore out a chunk of it, blood pooling at the wound with each heartbeat. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And it would keep flowing, her arm covered, dripping down the rest of her body, staining the purple dress. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now that she was bloodied, now that she looked corrupted and suitably beastial next to him, he would finally thrust into her. Lapping at her wrist, he gripped her hips and pushed, taking but a few seconds to bury every inch inside of her. Even the shadowy tendril could not stop that scream from getting out, even if it was unintelligible.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cradling his jaw and inadvertently wiping more blood across his face, she did her best to relax. In fact she succumbed to the fantasy: much like when she masturbated to these thoughts the day before, she let instinct take over any physical actions. Instead it was about the feeling of her skin being hot and crimson now, starting to dry up and get sticky in the places where her wrist wasn’t still flowing to. It was about the demon’s face, detailed with Hubert’s features now, hair over one eye, iris a piercing green, his smile the same but warped. It was about the feeling growing inside her to come and invite him to come inside her. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She did not need to invite him. He took one hand, dripping with her blood, and held it to her chest. Groping through her clothes, tendrils wrapped around her limbs. Her ankles, her wrists, and finally her neck. Each one tightened, although it never blocked her airways. It just resulted in a feeling of vulnerability.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hubert would normally tell someone he was close to orgasm. But now he was deep in the fantasy. It was just snarls and growls. Grunts that, surrounded by the illusion, sounded inhuman to Bernadetta.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her legs wrapped around his waist, although she couldn’t tell if the shadows had dragged her into that position. Her muscles tensed, he was pulled in, thighs clenched to make sure every inch would be buried inside when she started to orgasm. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>For a moment the illusion faded, she was able to scream out loud as a fist banged down against the bed. Her vision flickered back and forth, from her well-lit bedroom and a shirtless, clean Hubert, to his mask, the creature she was being brought to orgasm by. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He did not stop thrusting, despite her clenching. And just moments after, he came too. Sweating, panting, digging his nails into her sides, he began to come. Inside her, he twitched with every heartbeat, each time spurting more. Eventually, he collapsed on top of her, resting his head on her shoulder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The shadows crept back. Light filled the room. Hubert’s skin had its colour return. Blood faded from her arm and the rest of her body, wounds in her wrist, palm, and finger disappeared. With arms wrapped around him, she mumbled a “thank you” as he gave a cocky laugh. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>They lay there for some time, until their bodies recovered. His cock went flaccid, eventually pulling out, and slowly their breaths returned to normal. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Would you have rather I explained the illusions to you before I, ahem, tore out your neck?” He joked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I enjoyed the surprise, although maybe some warning would be nice in the future, Hubert.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I promise you are not bleeding, it was all an illusion.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He checked his fingernails, her neck, and her hips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I would like to correct myself. It was mostly an illusion, because I did break the skin when grabbing your waist and may have left a love bite.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernadetta squealed, making him laugh. A little cocky, but less throat-y than his usual laughs. More reserved.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do not worry. If you want to hide it, I’m sure some magic can do that too.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“But that means you left a mark on me-!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is a mark left on you the thing you’re most concerned about right now?” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Well you said you wouldn’t berate me for my fantasies, so yes! It is!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hubert snickered, wrapping his arms around her one last time before he got up, admiring her as he stood by the side of the bed. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thank you, Bernadetta.” Honorifics had been completely dropped now. “Can I get you anything?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She looked at him shyly. The reality of their actions had set in, and while there was something in the back of her mind screaming about her anxieties and fears, it was, in a rare turn of events, being drowned out by what she wants.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t want to ask too much, but, uhm, could you stay the night, tonight?” Sitting upright, Bernadetta adjusted her dress, so it covered herself again, although she didn’t replace the underwear. “I’ve had a nice time, but I’d like the company.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“As long as you don’t mind me waking up early.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernadetta laughed. A genuine, earnest laugh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’d never expect anything less of you, Hubert.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to ZephiWitt and inRemote for proofreading/giving tips/etc. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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